THE TEARING


There's a wind blowing storm-clouds across the sky,
Now it hides, then reveals the Moon,
And the gales, they are rising within as without,
The storm she has brought will break soon!
For her face, it appears in that Moon!

How we see, yet not see, what our friends might posess,
Till a day dawns resembling all the rest,
Yet by sunset, what a change, as the thought comes to me,
Of them all, perhaps she is the best,
And my soul is no longer at rest!


And I listen, and talk, and I watch from afar,
And 'tis wondrous how well we agree,
But a freezing wind rises when I glance in her soul,
And perceive paths of anguish to me,
To goals with which I cannot agree.

Now I wander how far has she travelled away,
Down a road which I know I'll never go.
Does she falter? Can I help her? Is she prize or a trap,
Binding hearts together, then to show
The tearing when we go where must go.


And the winds of my being hurl anguish and hope.
Of its own, shall this tempest never die!
Yet the flame of my feelings whips wildly in the wind,
And the question waits now for reply,
Do I fan it, or force it to die?